The Life And Times
by Roslin The Werewolf
Summary: Who ever said that having Damien Moore as a father would be boring? -One!Shots on author mistamie's fic "One Big Misunderstanding"-
1. In Which Anna Discovers Pancakes

**Disclaimer: As awesome as it would be, I don't own Hetalia and Anna belongs to mistamie**

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><p><em><strong>Chapter 1:<strong>__ In Which Anna Discovers Pancakes_

"Papa…?"

Anna, standing in the doorway of the remodeled kitchen, could do nothing but stare up at Damien skeptically, the latter leaning lazily against the shiny granite beside the stove, spatula in hand. Not so much bothered by the sight of her father preparing a meal in little more than casual sweat pants and a weathered T-Shirt-he was a great cook when he set his mind to it-as she was what was on the plate at the table, Anna found that the unfamiliar fluffy golden disks bothered her a great deal.

Damien peeked a glance up from the skillet. "Ah! Anna, did you sleep well last night?"

Evasive as ever…

"The storm woke me up," she mumbled sleepily, moving into the kitchen, her sleep-clouded eyes still on the steaming stack. The blonde nodded, flipping the fluffy disk in the pan. He had yet to notice his daughter's confusion.

"_Yeah, it was_ a pretty bad storm, wasn't it? I'm not sure I got much sleep either." He slipped the spatula into the pan, pulling out the thing within and setting it atop the stack on the table. "Would you like a pancake? I think I made enough for both of us to have three, at least."

"A what?"

The elder of the two froze, blinking almost disbelievingly down at his eight year old daughter. "Sorry?"

Anna huffed, climbing up into one of the three seats pulled away from the table. Precariously, she leaned across the table to the middle, pointing at the object of her curiosity. "This. What's this?"

Her words finally catching up to him, Damien grinned. Taking time to turn off the stove and grab a bottle of syrup from the pantry, he dropped into the seat across from the disgruntled girl, who, by now, had dropped into her own seat and had grabbed three of the fluffy cakes for herself. The other four he took for himself. "That, Anna, is a 'pancake'. They're not the best I've ever eaten," despite his grin, something like pain flashed in his blue eyes, though it was too quick for her to be sure. "They're still pretty good. Try it with some syrup."

Dark eyes glaring down at the steaming plate in front of her, Anna shook her head. "I don't like it!"

"You haven't tried it."

"I still don't like them."

"Just one bite?"

"No!"

His plate finished, Damien sighed. She'd seen him eat his plate, right? Normally, she liked his cooking and he _knew_ it tasted nothing like…like _his_ cooking. Before having adopted Anna, he'd taken a cooking course as one of his various distractions, er…hobbies. So why, if she so normally liked his food, did she shy away from something as wonderful as _pancakes_? Taking his plate, he slid it into the dishwasher. "Fine!" No, it definitely did _not_ hurt that she'd refused his cooking for once. "You can have some cereal if you want it, but tell me, why don't you want to try them?"

Pushing her plate back, the girl stared, guilty, down at her bare toes.

"I used that pan the other day for a litter box for the kitten I found under the shed…"

For years afterwards, Anna could not recall ever seeing her father run for the bathroom faster than he did that day.

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><p><strong>Alright guys! There you have it! The first chapter to what I hope will be a great series of one-shots. <strong>

**A **TON** of thanks to mistamie for letting me write these one-shots on her fantastic fic, _One Big Misunderstanding_. I'm really glad that she wrote that fic because she pretty much sparked an idea explosion in my mine. So, once again, thanks mistamie~ (^_^)**

**I'm not entierly sure if I'll put any other pairings in her besides Anna/Marco...I'm sure I will later on. **

**Well, look forward to the next chapter. If I have enough muse, I might just type it up tonight. **

**Please Review~**


	2. In Which Damien is Home Alone

Disclaimer + Warning: **I don't own Hetalia or Anna! And also, beware the epic amounts of cuteness at the end of this chapter! If you're not careful, you might just squeal at the cuteness of it all!**

**You have been warned.**

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><p><em><strong>Chapter 2<strong>__**:**_ _In Which Damien is Home Alone_

She pipes up at exactly 8:30, half an hour after he first pulled into the part of the parking lot so aptly labeled 'Drop-Off Zone'. He's been holding up the cars behind him for half an hour, horns have been blaring, and he just can't muster up enough of a damn to care if he's holding up traffic because it's _his_ baby girl that's about to get out of the car for her first day of public school. _His_ Anna. Not theirs.

"Papa, I'm going now, okay?"

He tries to smile, manages a crooked grin, and nods. "Yeah! You have fun, alright? And call me if y-you need anything, 'kay? I'm just a call away." Not quite so dimly, he hopes that there will be some problem that entails him picking her up from the dismal life of sitting behind a wood desk until 3:00.

As much as he wants to, he doesn't stop her as she opens the door, maneuvering her backpack onto her shoulders. On the threshold of the sleek door, she pauses, turns back, and wraps her arms around his arm. "Don't blow up the kitchen, Papa!"

She's out of earshot before he can even begin to come up with a retort. Frowning, the blonde starts up the car again, reveling in the low purr and pretending that he _had_ said something witty to that retreating lilac backpack that makes him think of someone he hopes to never see again. The mere thought of that bastard's eyes makes him grip the steering wheel just a bit harder.

It doesn't take him long to find the nearest, most _soothing_ coffee shop he knows. In no time at all, he's biting into a donut, his past forgotten beneath a layer of hot chocolate glaze sprinkled with multi-colored dots.

o0o0o0o0o0o

For the first time in nearly a year, he's afraid when he pulls up into the driveway of his-_their_-home. Even if the woodsy mansion does look very comfortable, very inviting, Damien Moore can't help the feeling of loneliness that creeps into his throat upon shifting the car into a smooth 'Park'. What the hell is he going to do until 3:00? Looking at the clock on the dashboard to find out that it's only 9:13 doesn't help his mood.

Not. In. The. Least.

"What's wrong with you?" 'Kay, talking to himself isn't necessarily a bad thing. It's not a good thing, but it's not a bad thing if you're just doing it to make _some_ sort of noise in the too-quiet house. "It's not like she's _not_ going to come back! Yup! Besides, what's six hours and forty-seven minutes to _you_, hmm?"

An eternity, is what it is! Especially when you no longer have a job to keep you busy and no handsome Brit to love on as you enter your _very_ spacious living room, with its several couches wide enough for two fully-grown men to snuggle on.

He drops noisily onto the nearest couch, keys tossed haphazardly onto the lamp table beside him. All he needs to do is find something to do for the next six hours and-he checks his watch-forty-six minutes. It's not such a long time. Maybe there's a game of baseball on?

"Wonder if the Braves are on?" Huffing-stupid house and it's stupid silence-he reaches for the remote, twirls it in his hand once, and sits through a solid hour of channel hopping before he finally settles on some old black and white western movie. The actors themselves, he muses, are mediocre at best. Now, if they _really_ knew just how frickin' _hard_ it was to find a meal that on most days in the old west would barely have been considered decent, they wouldn't be complaining about something as rare as 'only _one_ chicken'.

What time is it? The blonde's eyes flick to his watch, frowning irritably. Ten forty-three still isn't three. If he weren't in such an irate mood, he might just find it ironic that he can go through a year of unimaginable tortures and not crack, but that it takes the leaving of his daughter for a little over six hours to break him down so quickly. As it is, he can only brood on the couch and count down the minutes until Anna comes home.

Somewhere in-between, he falls asleep on the couch and wakes, many hours later, to a weight on his leg and a cold ham sandwich on the coffee table. Beside it is another, just as cold as the first. At the sight of it, he smiles and pulls the blanket that seems to have appeared seemingly from nowhere around himself and the weight on his leg. Anna, her head curled against the back of his knee, doesn't stir and he just smiles, knowing that he's not quite so alone and falls back to sleep.

The sandwiches can just wait a bit longer.

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><p><strong>Alright, you know you want to say it. "Daawww!" I can't help but add something so cute there at the end~ <strong>

**I was initially going to write some scene with Anna getting off the bus and finding her Papa asleep on the couch, but it just wasn't working out right. :(**

**This, however, DID work out and it's pretty frickin' cute anyway!**

**GO READ _ONE BIG MISUNDERSTANDING _BY mistamie IF YOU HAVEN'T ALREADY!**

Reviews are love~

**Anyway, my writing muse is on so I'm off to write another one-shot. ;)**

**By the way, the 'lilac eyes' he's remembering isn't Mattie~ **

**Roslin**


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